


Sweetness and Scars

by Always_Bottom_Derek, Benn_Xavier



Series: Sweetness and Scars [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, I'm Not Used to Not Needing Tags..., M/M, Misunderstandings, Not My Usual Kinkfest, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Trying to Avoid Talking about Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 21:39:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13579437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Always_Bottom_Derek/pseuds/Always_Bottom_Derek, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benn_Xavier/pseuds/Benn_Xavier
Summary: Just because scars aren't visible doesn't mean they're not there.





	Sweetness and Scars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Benn_Xavier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benn_Xavier/gifts).



> So I got a request from a fellow I am awfully fond of to have a go at being nice to Derek and to try and write something fluffy instead of my usual kinky, hardcore, smut.
> 
> Not one to back down from a challenge, I took it on and this is the result. And I suppose after everything I put Derek through, he does deserve a nice thing every now and again.
> 
> -Always_Bottom_Derek

 

 

  
                               

* * *

The musk of their coupling hung heavy in the air. Moonlight draped over broad shoulders. Under the glow cast through the open window, highlighting every curve, every rippled muscle, Derek looked gorgeous, his skin still shiny from the sweat of their fuck.

To John’s mind, quiet from coming, at the moment everything seemed perfect.

Well, almost.

After adjusting the pillows propped behind him, he lifted his left arm in silent invitation.

There was, as always, that flash of heartbreaking gratitude in Derek’s eyes before he ducked his head and tucked in beside him. Once he’d settled, John gave him a reassuring squeeze before going back to boneless. It was amazing how at this minute pressure, the last subtle tension bled from Derek’s body. Then there was the soft slump of warm, firm flesh against John’s own.

God, he loved these moments, his limbs heavy, his brain blissfully dulled. He pressed a kiss to Derek’s dark head relishing how perfectly the other man fit against him despite his bulk. The soft ambient noises of the hotel room’s fridge, the low growl of night traffic on the road outside, and Derek’s sleepy breaths filled all John’s empty spaces.

He allowed himself to drift.

He’d been lightly dozing for about twenty minutes when one of Derek’s hands cautiously slid over his furry belly to take his right hand. John allowed it. After seeing he’d been granted this permission, Derek lifted his hand and turned it. A broad thumb stroked the pad of his own.

“Tell me?”

Outside “fuck me!” and “harder!”, these were the first words he’d said since John had entered the room and found him waiting: naked on all fours on the stripped down bed, ass up, open and ready. The dingy towel spread below Derek’s hips already damp from his cock, wrought iron-hard and leaking with anticipation.

Had he been a younger man, John had no doubt this newest memory would have had him rousing again. He didn’t begrudge his sleepy dick, however. This little after-intimacy they’d happened into had become almost as important to him as their furious fucks. Not that he’d ever admit it.

Though, thankfully, given Derek’s nature, he knew he’d never be pressed to.

Humming he lifted his hand towards his face, Derek’s hand followed still attached. Catching the moonlight he squinted to see what had drawn the younger man’s attention this time.

Gazing on the small scar at the base of his thumb he was amazed again at both the werewolf’s vision in the dark and at Derek’s attention to detail.

“Ah, that…” John set his hand on his chest with Derek’s under his own. “I think, I got that one of the few times I tried to whittle.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. That could have been where it came from. But his hands had seen so much wear over the years he barely remembered one mark over the other now.

Still, if Derek heard his uncertainty, he didn’t show it. Instead, he nuzzled his head against his jaw like he was resettling himself, though John recognized it as silent urging to keep going.

So he started talking.

He told Derek about the camping trip he’d taken with his father and his grandfather. His first pocket knife, a gift from his dad for his ninth birthday. Of the lazy, green river where they’d caught crappie. The perfect fishing day: their lines struck every time within minutes of hitting the water.

While he rumbled on about cleaning the fish with his knife after, the way they’d tasted over the campfire that night, he watched Derek’s fingers trapped beneath the weight of his hand flex and straighten as they tried to knead his right pec.

Each time John thought he’d wandered too far into his memories, was talking too much, he’d glance down to check Derek’s face. Derek never looked up but the flutter of his dark lashes told him he knew he was watching, as did the subtle nudge of a stubbled cheek against his skin that signaled:  continue.

He wrapped up his storytelling of how after the dinner, his grandfather had picked up a stick and started to whittle. Wanting to emulate the Stilinski patriarch he’d opened up his pocket knife, found a twig, and set to work too. Unfortunately, within minutes he managed to carve away far more of his thumb than the stick.

John ended his walk down memory lane with a chuckle; Derek gave a sleepy snort. Things fell silent again after that.

Once Derek knew for sure the story was over, he lifted John’s hand to his lips and kissed the scar. There was a buzz against John’s damp skin when he murmured into it after, “Thank you.”

John just grunted, but then pressed another kiss to the top of Derek’s head in return, hoping this was enough. It seemed to be, because then Derek settled down again. He felt the barest kiss of long lashes against his skin as Derek closed his eyes.

He had never been a man of many words. Derek either, clearly. Thinking back it seemed kind of miraculous to John now, the coordination of their trysts, since most of their… Whatever this was… had come about and endured with hardly any words shared between them.

He closed his own eyes and remembered the first time Derek had crawled into his bedroom window and not his son’s. It happened one night while Stiles was staying over at Scott’s. Dumbass werewolf was lucky he hadn’t gotten shot.

  Still…

His dick gave a weary twitch reliving the way Derek had slipped in and knelt beside his bed, those green eyes staring, full of fearful hunger. How the younger man remained wordless and waiting until he’d finally sighed and lifted his covers up.

The way Derek’s body looked as he shucked out of his clothes, crawled under the sheets, and onto his cock, had become one of his most treasured memories.

Past the hurdle of their first night together, things had kept up like that for a time. They both grew bolder too, articulating their silent needings, until one evening when Stiles had come home unexpectedly. He’d been fucking Derek in the shower when his son had cracked the door and hollered in to him.

After that, it was three long weeks until he saw Derek again.

Then a text came in on his phone. Nothing more provided but the address of this motel ten miles outside of town. After that, their liaisons had been boiled down to a simple one-word query, every time the same, regardless of which of them asked it.

  Tonight?

They met each other here weekly now, at least, if they could both manage it. It was a haven for John, this room, Derek’s body: an escape from his humdrum life and his too often tortured thoughts.

He wondered if Derek felt the same.

Now that they’d been seeing each other on the sly for months, John couldn’t pinpoint the first time Derek had asked him about one of his scars. All he recalled was the press of a finger to a spot followed by a quiet, “Tell me?”

It was amazing how with a little quiet urging his words flowed then and now. His scar stories…

A little bit of him felt guilty because at this point, after rolling through his fleshly records, he’d given Derek a more thorough accounting of his life than he’d ever even shared with his own son.

But it was easy to rattle on about the history left on his skin. Random mishaps or evidence of youthful stupidity, battle scars earned on the job. So much easier to talk about these woundings than his others.

The kind that tore a soul apart and never left a mark.

This thought opened a crack in his heart and the old aches began to slither back in through it. Fuck, but he wasn’t ready to relinquish his peace yet. So, he offered, “Want to pick another?”

Derek glanced up at him. One brow dipped in surprise but he shook his head. He looked back down, a pink in his cheeks that had nothing to do with their recent exertion.

“I’m rationing them.” He grumbled. Then, unable to handle his embarrassment at this confession, he rolled over.

John gave a light snort. Most would have missed it, but with Derek’s sensitive ears and the way his body tensed, he knew he’d been heard. He couldn’t help but smile at the broad back set against him.

“You worried I’m gonna stop seeing you, Sugar? If I run outta scars?”

When there was no answer he shifted over and set his hand on Derek’s hip, slid it down under the thin cotton sheets worn soft from washing. His fingers skimmed the warm scales of Derek’s hard belly.

Pressing his body against Derek’s back, John pulled him into him. He waited for their shared heat to thaw Derek’s stiffness before nudging his nose against the base a flamed-tipped ear.

“How about we share then? Stretch this out. You tell me about one of yours.”

Derek rolled back over, searched his face, then growled, “Werewolves don’t scar. Our healing erases them.”

The way he said it was almost accusatory, like John hadn’t been paying attention; like he hadn’t noticed the flawless perfection of his skin. John had noticed indeed, but what he hadn’t considered before was what this meant. That Derek would never own a record of his woundings… or for that matter, their healing.

Careful, he ran a hand over Derek’s low back, cupped the sweet, firm flesh of his ass, soothing. “Just because I can’t see them, doesn’t mean they’re not there.”

Clearly not expecting this answer, in the dim light of the room Derek’s eyes widened in surprise. He dropped his head to study the bit of sheet his left hand was worrying.

“If I did scar, at this point there’d probably be hardly an inch of me unmarked.” He said this with a forced casualness that made John’s heart ache. Then Derek looked up and his tone turned challenging.

“If I tell you, what are you going to do? Kiss them better?”

“Not my style,” John answered. “I would never do something so cor…” He was going to say “corny” but switched to “sweet” at the last moment, realizing too late that this was just exactly what Derek had been doing with him.

Unfortunately, Derek heard the switch. His face set back into its usual stone and he pushed up from the bed. John shook his head and sighed heavily.

The kid was so fucking sensitive and he knew he’d just nicked Derek’s ego in a way that would weep for days if he didn’t do something to fix it. Seeing Derek readying to bolt, he pulled out his sheriff’s voice.

“Oh no, Hale… Set your ass back down in this bed. I’m not done with you yet.”

Derek ignored him and reached for his shirt on the nightstand.  John seized him around the waist and threw him on his back on the bed.

“I said settle. You’re not going anywhere.”

Derek growled and made to push him off but John wedged himself between his thick thighs and laid on top of him. They tussled a bit, though John knew with his wolf strength Derek could have tossed him across the room in a second if he wanted.

Finally, Derek thunked his head back on a crumpled pillow; his muscular limbs stilled. John stared down at him. Derek looked so pretty like this, cheeks flushed, panting. Even prettier though was his submission.

“That’s better.” Positioned as he was between Derek’s splayed thighs, their cock’s touched and John could feel Derek’s had thickened some in their struggles. Tempting as this was, he forced himself to ignore it. There were other more important matters to attend to at the moment.

“I’m not letting you run off half-cocked.” Derek glared back at him, remaining silent, his mouth a pinched tight line.

“Just cause I’m not sweet, doesn’t mean I don’t like sweetness.” John watched Derek’s face, not relaxing the firm grip he had on his forearms until he saw the light of understanding dawn in the younger man’s eyes. “And some things can’t be fixed with a kiss, but that doesn’t mean a kiss isn’t appreciated.” His voice was as tender as he’d ever allowed it to be since they’d first hooked up.

“Got that!?”

Derek rolled his eyes before resuming his glare, but it was softer now. Even softer yet was the “Yes sir,” he exhaled.

“Good.” John smiled and released Derek’s arms but made no move to shift the rest of his body.

Derek’s nose scrunched in a way that did wonderful things to his handsome face as he tried to remain stern. He tucked his liberated arms behind his head, the posture puffing his biceps and accentuating the strength of his chest.

Seeing this hadn’t gone unnoticed he allowed a small smirk to curve his lips and ground his hips up, pressing their dicks together. John’s cock twitched in interest but he shook his head.

“No, Derek. We’re not done here.”

Before the younger man could protest, he shifted up so he knelt between Derek’s legs. He placed one hand on Derek’s chest. The other touched his left arm where it joined at the shoulder.

“Tell me?”

The smirk fell from Derek’s face, his expression stormy once more. When he saw John wasn’t going to relent he finally answered, “dislocated once when Kate Argent was electrocuting me.”

John heard the strain and the snap in his voice and saw the fire in the green gaze that met his. It was a defense strategy, he knew this: Derek using his first confession to try and push him to withdraw. John’s hands stayed where they were.  

“Well, that surely beats my whittling story…”

Derek averted his gaze away, staring out through the dirty hotel window. “Happy now?”

“Happy… No, son, I’m not.” John stroked down Derek’s flawless left arm. Then he reached up and caught Derek’s jaw, directing his face back towards him. He waited until Derek met his eyes. He kept his voice low, his words clear.

“Understand me… I don’t pity you, Derek. But I am well and truly sorry you had to suffer that. No matter what you think, you shouldn’t of had to endure that. And I know you can hear the truth of this.”

All the fire in Derek’s eyes died at this, extinguished by the tears that filled them. John smiled sadly.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He flexed the fingers of his hand set in the middle of Derek’s chest over his heart. “If I could pull your pain like a wolf, I would. But I can’t. All I can offer you is this.”

Dipping down, John pressed a kiss to the juncture of Derek’s shoulder then he shifted, catching Derek’s jaw between his hands, then catching his lips.

He tasted salt in Derek’s kisses, felt the growing wetness of his cheeks under his fingers. Still, he persisted. Derek opened up for him slowly, but it was worth the effort.

Not a word was uttered but what followed was the longest conversation they’d ever shared. Spoken in slick tongues, soft lips, and low sighs. Their bodies rocked together, cocks trapped between their bellies, rubbing. But their arousal went unacknowledged, they were too intent on coming together in another way at the moment.

When John finally pulled away, Derek’s lips were flush and swollen. His eyes were red-rimmed, the look in them open and raw.

Pushing himself up, John moved and resettled himself, Derek too. The younger man stayed pliant until they were spooned together again. His furry chest pressed to Derek’s broad shoulders, his half hard cock nestled against the crack off his ass.

John draped on hand over Derek’s side, his hand resumed its place in the center of his chest as though this could protect it, ward off the future blows that were, unfortunately, inevitable.

He stayed silent. His lips pressed to Derek’s neck, intermittently worrying it with kisses while he waited for Derek to gather himself.

Derek quietly sniffled for a while. Then his hand moved up to John’s. He set his over it and interlaced their fingers. His grip was tight. John understood the gesture and the strength of Derek’s hold immediately. He offered the best comfort he could to ease his fears.

“You know… We trade stories… I figure between the two of us… It’ll take a couple years to get through them all at least.”

John couldn’t see Derek smile, but he felt it regardless. It made him bold. “Way the world goes, we’ll probably have new ones by then… In fact, with our combined luck, we might never reach the end of it.”

The grip on his hand increased as Derek squeezed, but then it relaxed. Derek lay still after this for a minute. Then he turned his head and regarded John, his voice was rough but it was accompanied by was a flash of white teeth and a fleeting lopsided grin.

“I thought you said you weren’t sweet?”

It annoyed John, the rush of heat to his cheeks. “You think I’m sweet, huh?”

He gave Derek a quick kiss before huffing, “you should leave off the flattery and save your breath, ‘cause in another five minutes I’m going to fuck the wind right out of you again.

There was that fragile smile again. “Five? That long, huh?” Derek pressed back and flexed his hips, caressing John’s cock with the cheeks of his ass.

Less than a minute later, John was inside him. Despite his threatened ferocity, he fucked Derek long and slow, their positions unshifted. They fell asleep after, his cock grown soft in Derek’s ass, his hand still over his heart.

                     

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for partaking in my experiment.
> 
> Now I am going to brush my teeth before I get any cavities. 
> 
> Then I am going to go write some more filth.
> 
> P.S. For you fluff lovers... A word of advice. If you're new to my stories and like this one; stay far, far away from my other tales.  
> -ABD


End file.
